


The Firebird Suite

by treeprince



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Canon Typical Violence, Dissociative Episode, M/M, a slightly shifted canon reimagining, it's combat lite compared to canon but yknow, slowburn, warning for the regent being the regent, with fairy tale elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:21:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26183338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treeprince/pseuds/treeprince
Summary: Ancel knew the Regent preferred his pets blue-eyed and younger, but he was the best, so he wasn’t too worried that he couldn’t turn the highest head. If nothing else, he knew he’d make a lasting impression and land himself a contract either with someone much more suited to his tastes, or better.After all, the only person looking out for him was himself, so there wouldn’t be any need to improve his circumstances with his current owner. There was no use in sticking his neck out for those who wouldn’t do the same for him.
Relationships: Ancel/Berenger (Captive Prince)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 20





	1. diamond sparrow

Prologue

\--------  
  


Ancel knew the exact moment everything went to shit.

Louans had promised him a night to remember, talking of showing him off at a banquet being held in the Regent’s honor. He’d been almost beside himself to have Louans find the proper fabrics to entice all the lords he’d no doubt fall into conversation with, not to mention the chance to dazzle the royalty. He’d shimmer and twirl like a dream and then disappear before their very eyes, make everyone want him like they were starving for it. 

Ancel knew the Regent preferred his pets blue-eyed and younger, but he was the best, so he wasn’t too worried that he couldn’t turn the highest head. If nothing else, he knew he’d make a lasting impression and land himself a contract either with someone much more suited to his tastes, or better.

After all, the only person looking out for him was himself, so there wasn't any need to improve his circumstances with his current owner. There was no use in sticking his neck out for those who wouldn’t do the same for him.

He broke free of Louans grip within minutes of arriving, having plied him early on the trip with wine as a thrust to his “courage” in front of the nobility. All evening long he flitted between the nobles diving further into their cups, leaving in his wake a sea of aroused and ruddy faces. He flirted and gossiped with ladies holding their chests together with tittering laughter, before whisking himself off to the next easy target. It felt like hours had passed since the party started, and yet it could have only been a short while after sundown that the Regent finally noticed him. Their gazes met across the room where Ancel had just finished making a lord laugh raucously at a raunchy tale.

With a single gesture, the Regent beckoned him forth, and Ancel rose with all the grace of a swan to sit directly at his feet.

“My, you are a fetching sight. Perhaps even the most eye-catching jewel in this entire room.”

Ancel preened under the attention. He _was_ a gem, as stunning as one too. Seeing his chance, he lowered his gaze, his lashes fluttering over his emerald eyes. “I can be your jewel, if his Highness would have me,” he demurred.

“That will depend on you, young one.” The Regent's hand came down, before lifting Ancel's chin up gently. "How old are you?"

"Sixteen, your Highness." he lied.

"And so tall for your age."

Ancel flushed, and did not hide it. He pretended to turn away. Let him think he was embarrassed of his growing adolescence.

"Manhood arrived early for me."

"A pity, I am sure you were a rare beauty."

Rather than look affronted, Ancel quickly changed course. "At least I shall not grow any taller. I am already distressed to find that men are intimidated by me now. It's put quite a strain on my most recent contract.” Here Ancel traced his hands boldly along the Regent’s boots. “My lord left me alone so early into the party, I’ve had to search for company all night long,” the hand traced all way up to the Regent’s knee before moving it’s way back down to slip a finger inside the buttery soft leather of his boot, “but I’m enjoying yours the most, your Highness."

That seemed to do the trick, as the Regent leaned forward again. "You need not fear such anxieties from me for your misfortunes. Anyone who would leave you to your own devices is a fool. You are an exotic find, and I believe you'd look all the finer at my side for it."

Ancel smiled so that his lips parted prettily, leaning his head against the man’s knee to let his hair fall like a red curtain. He let his gaze drift to the Regent’s bearded face. He could pretend whatever the Regent needed of him if it meant sitting next to the highest throne, holding the attention of everyone at court. He could already see himself dripping in diamonds and silks from far away lands.

“Thank you, your Highness.”

\--------

It was foolish of him to think he was the only one the Regent had eyes for. 

Upon arriving, the Regent introduced Ancel to his other pet, Nicaise, a boy not yet fourteen who took an instant dislike to him. The Regent asked that Ancel become the youthful companion that Nicaise needed while he was busy handling the kingdom and his unruly nephew. 

He was overly concerned about the Prince’s bad influence on Nicaise, having discovered a bet the two had made not a week before Ancel’s contract was signed. Nicaise had lost a pair of pearl dice to the Prince, something the Regent was reluctant to part with as he had gifted them to him out of affection and trust. No amount of crocodile tears would persuade the Regent into getting them back, and as a lesson to Nicaise, he would be withholding such trinkets until he learned better, but Ancel could expect to receive gifts of his own if he was good. Opal earrings, or diamonds for his hair, the Regent could go on and on. 

Ancel laughed prettily, and told him not to worry; that they would be fast friends and he could expect his gifts early. The Regent smiled, and sent them on their way to become better acquainted. 

Within minutes, Nicaise had put a hole in his second favorite shirt, feigning innocence over the “accident”. Ancel made a vow then to make the brat’s life hell.

\--------

Ancel spent the first few weeks learning the in’s and out’s of the castle at Arles, hardly even taking the time to admire the architecture and the decorations in his haste to catch the little rascal at his own game. Nicaise was slippery, but Ancel was the best, and he’d be the best at glorified babysitting too if it meant drowning in all the luxuries he deserved. He interrupted, insulted and cajoled his way into all the little tramp’s rendezvous, even catching them out in the coupling gardens one evening.

It seemed like no time at all before he received his first gift: a beautiful supply of gold and garnet paint, with matching garnet beads along a series of thin, gold chains that spilled down his throat like a fountain glittering in the sun.

He adorned himself in all his new finery, but no matter how he dressed, the Regent still did not call for him.

On several occasions, he thwarted a meeting between the Prince and Nicaise before anything could be lost, but there was nothing Ancel could do about dinner arrangements. The Prince was seated with his freshly healed pet, a slave gifted to him from the new King of Akielos as he’d heard it, and while normally Ancel would have taken the remaining seat, now he was waiting in the wings to enter the room and begin his act. He had told the Regent of his prowess with firesticks to try and impress him with his skills, so during the Patran delegation’s feast, he was asked to perform his dance upon one of the slaves. Ancel was so focused on not burning the poor trembling creature before him that he did not notice the encounter until it was too late.

Nicaise lost a sapphire earring to the Prince and his animal pet that night, and as punishment when the Regent discovered the loss, had his court privileges revoked until the Prince had left for border duty. For Ancel’s negligence, he was forbidden from speaking to anyone at court for a week, and would only be spending time with Nicaise and one of the Regent’s old guard, Govart. If they were good, the Regent would return their toys to them in due time, but until then they were to stay under close watch with a guard.

Ancel had never learned to read, but he could create the illusion of knowing well enough that their tutor could not tell the difference.

Nicaise knew better though, and quickly used it to his advantage.

It was only two days into their confinement, and _boredom_ , when Ancel was nudged in the side by Nicaise’s bare feet.

“I have a present for you, hag.”

“Is it another bug you brat?” 

“No, it’s a letter from the Regent. Govart had it locked in his room.”

At that, Ancel lifted his head from the pages he was staring blankly at, his interest piqued but only just.

“What kind of letter? Has he decided to release us early from this torment? Is he bringing us to Chastillon?”

“As if he would take you there, you overgrown weed.” he scoffed, sticking his nose up at Ancel’s feigned excitement. Nicaise’s equally sincere disdain held up for all of a moment before he pulled the letter from behind his back with a childish glee written all over his face. Ancel would never have been so stupid as to show his true feelings like Nicaise did, but there was nothing he could do about that. Nicaise never took his advice, always choosing to fling insults at how _old_ and _ancient_ he was.

“Do you want to read it? It’s as old as you are, so it should interest you. See how wrinkled and worn out it is?”

“Give it here, before I cuff it off you.”

“You wouldn’t dare, you’d catch even more wrinkles gasping for air to catch me.”

“That’s _it_.” Ancel rose swiftly to his feet, the book flying to the floor with a loud _thump_.

Nicaise jumped back with a squeal, holding the letter behind his back again. Ancel stepped forward, and then they were off, the wretch giggling as he dashed just out of Ancel’s grasp, dancing and leaping over furniture. They raced about the room, dodging and laughing until Ancel cornered him. After a brief scuffle with nails scratching at each other, he snatched the letter out of Nicaise’s hand, holding it high above his curly head.

“Hah! We’ll see who gets to spend time with the Regent first now you cheeky hellion!”

Nicaise huffed and pouted, crossing his arms before stomping his way back over to his corner to sulk in silence. Ancel let himself smile in real triumph for once.

\--------

Later that night, Ancel snuck out of his room to knock on the Regent’s door, the letter tucked into the back of his robe. He’d dressed in his softest silk shirt and pants, the ones that were almost translucent. Although the Regent had never asked for him privately, he hoped the sight of all his bare skin, visible even through the dim light of the torches, would tempt him enough to invite him inside his chambers.

The guard waiting there did not even blink or ask his business at such a late hour.

He knocked once, twice, before the Regent was there and staring down at him in surprise, the only light in the room coming from the fireplace.

“Ancel, is something the matter?”

“No, your Highness, I just…” he fidgeted, trying to appear shy by glancing at the guard, hoping the Regent would understand that he wished for a private conversation.

“Come in.”

“Thank you.” he sighed, stepping lightly into the room on bare feet.

The Regent closed the door behind him, gesturing for Ancel to have a seat. The table had an arrangement of huge, full white flowers in a vase, and Ancel picked one to put in his ear as he walked by it. Rather than sit at the table, he deliberately aimed for the corner of the bed, crossing his ankles elegantly as he positioned the flower just so in his hair. “I was longing to see you, your Highness. I have missed your presence, and hoped you might wish to seek mine.”

The Regent’s laugh was quiet, almost fond, as he stared down at Ancel on the bed. “Nicaise has not been stimulating enough for you? I seem to recall the two of you being inseparable until recently.”

Ancel crossed his arms, not quite feigning annoyance. “Hmph, you mean until he got us in trouble.”

“Yes, that.” He walked to the fireplace, his silhouette casting a long shadow over the dark floor. “I had hoped the time away might remind him of where his loyalties lie, but I see it has affected _you_ more than I anticipated.”

“It cannot be blamed, you have hardly had the time for either of us, much less myself,” he simpered, leaning toward the Regent to let one of the sleeves of his robe slip off his shoulder. He had not turned around to see it, but Ancel knew he looked alluring. “I’ve been so lonely, even with Nicaise’s company. He’s no substitute for you, your Highness.” 

“I can see that,” he said flatly, gaze still on the flames. Ancel changed tactics.

“I got your letter by the way. The one you left with Govart.”

The Regent froze, his back stiff as a statute. Slowly, he turned to face Ancel, and the heavy lidded gaze he received was not one of want. Ancel froze himself, unsure now of his believed advantage.

“Is that so…” The Regent turned fully now, and in the shadow of the fire, Ancel could no longer see his eyes, but his tone had changed. No longer did he sound amused and understanding. He sounded cold. Unforgiving.

“Yes, I… I wanted to talk to you about it. Govart hid it well, but I was so curious, and I thought you might reward me for my efforts.”

“Hm, perhaps a reward _is_ due.” He strode across the floor, passed Ancel and over to the nightstand, where a pitcher sat next to a single glass. Without looking at Ancel, he poured a finger of dark red liquid into the glass, before handing it to Ancel. Ancel took it delicately, smiling with uncertainty as he sniffed at the drink, before taking a tentative sip. It was fruity and a little bitter at the back of his mouth, but it went down smoothly. The Regent watched him unblinkingly until he had drank it all down, and Ancel smiled up at him, saccharine and warm. Whatever wine the Regent kept privately was surely meant to help him sleep, as Ancel could already feel his eyes struggling to stay open. “After all, I hid it explicitly to avoid it’s detection, but then you always were a clever little beast.”

“‘Beast’?” He slurred, tongue feeling heavy in his mouth. “I’d hardly call it beastly to desire your attention, however I must achieve it.”

“It is beastly indeed, to seek out one’s own demise directly in my presence, and then so willingly admit to it.” 

Here the Regent smiled, and it was not the gentle smile he had come to know, but something cruel and twisted. Ancel knew then, even through the haze of drink, how wrong he’d been. Not just about the letter, but everything. 

“Your Highne-”

“Silence, beasts do not speak.”

Ancel felt his throat close up, involuntarily. He choked, trying to make a sound, any sound at all, but all that came out was a whimper. He reached for his throat, feeling something like fear fill his veins, but it was distant. 

The glass slipped out of his hand, shattering on the floor. The guard at the door did not enter, somehow unaware of the sounds of distress inside the room.

The Regent’s hand came down to smooth his hair back. It felt like a million needles pricked his scalp wherever his fingers reached. A slow and rolling agony began to creep along his skin, the sensation searing it’s way into his bones. He could feel his body shifting, changing, fracturing like clay tablets under pressure. He slid off the bed then, grasping for the edges of the man’s robes, hoping to end this torture but only finding empty air.

“You are much too exquisite to waste on an execution block. No, I think I have a far better use for you, my dear fire dancer.”

Ancel tried to speak again, to ask _Why?_ and _What was in that wine?!,_ but was shocked - and then horrified - to hear not a voice, but a low and groaning screech come from within him, like that of a raven. In his panic, he tried to speak again - to scream, to beg, to cry - but still all that came out was the furious squawking of a bird. His beautiful voice was buried underneath a horrid croak. 

“I had been saving this for another, but circumstances never saw fit for its use. I am glad now that the opportunity slipped me by.” The Regent stepped away, turning his back to Ancel, still writhing on the floor as his arms and legs lashed about with the pain of contorting beyond their means. “I won’t leave you without your reward, seeing as you went to such great lengths to have my attention. It’s quite generous of me.”

With a flourish, the Regent held up his hand. In it was the white flower, the one Ancel had tucked into his own hair only minutes ago it seemed. He’d plucked it off, like a gardener with their shears. As he stared, the flower began to glow. First white, and then, brighter and brighter, until he had to shut his eyes or be blinded. The Regent’s voice echoed around him like a storm.

“This rose will bloom for a single year. Should you earn the heart of another before the last petal falls, you will return to your true form. But if you should fail,” he laughed, and now the sound was like a door slamming shut. “You will remain a beast for all eternity, like the wretched filth you are.” He snapped his fingers and with a crack of thunder, it was over.

With the noise gone the world darkened. Where once Ancel had been fumbling in pain in the Regent’s chambers, he now laid in grotesque horror on the cold stone floor of a room he did not recognize. With careful, stinging steps, he managed to rise to his feet and stared in awe at the room around him.

A massive bedroom, with tapestries on the walls and paintings of gory hunting parties lining every square inch of free space. There were pieces of furniture strewn about, elegant and beautiful, with blood red lacquer designs on every surface. The bed alone could have fit him ten times over, with silk sheets and a scarlet duvet that only made him sick to look at now. Whatever had become of him was his own fault, but worse was the reminder of what he’d come so close to having.

With shaking hands, he reached for the table nearest to him where the white flower (a rose… he’d called it a rose and then _defiled it_ ) now stood glowing faintly on its stem, as if an invisible vase held it up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw what he’d feared from the moment he first heard himself speak.

Instead of the pale skin of his hands, soft from creams and scented oils, were five sharp talons. They branched out from skin that looked burnt, warped from heat and covered almost to their ends in bright feathers the color of his hair. They trembled the longer he looked down, too afraid but knowing that he’d find the same if he peered at his legs and feet. He could even feel the talons there grating into the stones, scratching across the floor. But the oddest sensation of them all was the weight on his back. It was heavy, forcing him to lean further onto the table for support as he adjusted to the new direction his knees bent. 

Daring to look over his shoulder, he could see now what was causing the strain. Huge, protruding wings, the same shape as a ravens, spilling off his back like a pair of dark red flags unfurled in the wind. He stifled a cry, lest anyone nearby hear his anguish, before thinking better of it and brokenly sobbing as his world came crashing down. There was no chance that anyone would see beneath this hideous form, and the Regent knew that. He’d sentenced him to a lifetime of isolation, all for his ambition.

And what of his life now? Ancel had had _plans_ . He’d had _dreams._ All gone, like ashes scattered to the wind. All because of one _stupid_ child. He should have known it was a trick, but he’d grown complacent. He’d forgotten his first rule: the only one looking out for him was himself. And now... 

In a fit of rage, he threw the chair in his hands ~~_claws_~~ against the wall, watching the beautifully carved flowers smash into splinters. Above the wreckage, another painting caught his eye, and this time he froze in anger.

The painting was of himself, beautiful and radiant as a sunset dressed in jade. Without thinking, he strode furiously towards it, tears blurring his vision as he raked his hands down the canvas, ripping the face there into shreds. When there was nothing left of him to stare at, he sank to the floor, holding his face in his disgusting hands, and wept.

He knew then what he’d known all along. No one was coming to save him, and now, he couldn’t even save himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me to myself: im gonna give me everything i want, just like ancel
> 
> this fic is going to be a slightly canon adjacent retelling but let's be honest, this is just a beauty and the beast au and i am going to be the most self indulgent lil shit ever about it
> 
> i have the outline completely mapped out, but i am notorious for taking forever to complete chapters, so updates may be infrequent. i make no promises!
> 
> hope yall enjoy this story, and of course, thank u to [barbitone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbitone/pseuds/barbitone) for being by and large the inspiration for this! massive kudos to you and all the work you've done for this lil community!


	2. golden eagle

golden eagle

\--------

Had Laurent known the weather was going to change so abruptly before he made it over the first mountain, he’d have left much sooner from the borders of Alier. There was simply no time to lose, though, and he needed to secure his exchange with the Vaskian Empress before it was too late. Her rider hadn’t returned at their appointed time, and he couldn’t risk Uncle tipping the scales before he’d even made his countermove.

He’d left Damen in charge of the men, hoping the barbarian would keep his word for the day’s ride he would need to make the exchange. The only other person who knew of his whereabouts was Berenger, who he’d written to in secret nearly a month ago now. Berenger would be making good time for the border of Vask himself at this very moment, as his chestnut gelding had been waiting for Laurent there at the foothills of the pass. Laurent had left his own war pony behind, tied to a tree off the road by a patch of shrubs.

It was a risk he was willing to take, as his Uncle was not blind and had men roaming every border from here to Ravenel. If he should lose this horse, its branding would ensure its swift capture and return to Varenne. No one would think twice of one of Lord Berenger’s horses running free of his stables near the borders of his own land. It would have to be message enough for Damen to ride for him instead of the fort, or for a scout to send word to Berenger.

As the rain beat down on him, he regretted not carrying a thicker cloak or borrowing Damen’s. The giant brute’s clothes would swamp him, but they’d have made an excellent tarp on his journey. The further he rode into the mountains, the worse the terrain became, and by nightfall he could scarcely see far enough ahead of him to guide his horse even without the ripping wind and pouring rain.

It was on that thought that the sky lit up, and at the same moment, lightning struck the hillside with a loud _crash_. Rocks cascaded down towards them, and with a yell Laurent yanked the reins, urging the horse into a sprint to avoid being crushed to death.

In his haste to escape the rock fall, he didn’t see the edge of the path drop off as it turned. The horse bucked in reverse to avoid the fall, jumping erratically until its head slammed into Laurent’s face, disorienting him. In a split second his rain-slicked hands lost their grip. 

There was a brief moment where Laurent felt weightless, and then he was plunging down the hillside, tumbling and crashing through the thickets and bramble until he dropped like a stone into the ravine. When he landed at last, the horse was prancing in distress far above him, pawing at the edge of the cliff before another flash of lightning finally sent it racing off. With the wind knocked out of him and his forehead still smarting, he watched as it disappeared, hooves pounding away into the darkness.

Bruised and bloody, but not broken, he got to his feet and tried to think. 

There was no time to search for the horse; even if he hadn’t broken anything, Laurent could feel soreness creeping into his limbs, and his right ankle was tightening up in the signs of a sprain. He’d be risking death to pursue the frightened thing. Looking up, the path was completely lost to him, but ahead there was a smaller one snaking along the ravine floor with perhaps another hundred yards before he was on the other side of it. Following the ravine was a gamble, as he could not see beyond the bend in it, but if he tried to climb back up, he’d be risking more than just the tides of the war. He couldn’t climb the steep slope even if it had been dry as a desert out.

If he could find a way back to the main road, he could be out of the pass by daylight. Then there would only be another ten miles between him and the border. He was too far from his own men to walk the distance back in any decent amount of time, but he could take his chances and hope one of the hunting parties would be nearby.

Another strike of lightning had him moving forward, the sound making him flinch. He urged himself on with haste.

Laurent had not walked more than ten minutes through the ravine when he finally came around the bend, but instead of seeing an easy way back to the road, he was met with a more welcome sight. Lights, and up ahead, stairs leading down to a bridge.

_A castle, hidden in the border mountains?_ He let out a breathless laugh. It was probably the lord of Alier’s private estate, somewhere he could go to engage in his more illicit affairs. Laurent hoped it was not the master at home, but a simple waitstaff left to attend it. As bare bones as they would most likely be, surely they could part with one horse for their prince. Not that he would make himself known, he just needed to get close enough to find the stables and run.

His walk down the path to the castle was shambling, but he made it in what felt like no time at all. The storm was letting up, hardly even drizzling. He gave himself a moment to catch his breath before pushing on, taking in the crumbling stone and rather ancient looking architecture. Whoever built this place had let it go to ruin, the cut stone bridge left with gaping holes in its sides. Perhaps it belonged to a time older than Vere. Somewhere ancient lords could go for a moment of peace. _A perfect hideaway from prying eyes._

As he approached, the air gradually became frigid, his breath puffing out in front of him like a cloud. He knew he was high into the mountains now, but it was the beginning of summer. It couldn’t possibly be so cold unless he was much higher than the path, but he didn’t remember any incline through the ravine. Perhaps the air here was simply colder because it was so deep in the valley created by the high peaks on every side.

That thought evaporated as the first snowflake fell gently onto his nose. On closer inspection, it wasn’t that the rain was letting up, but that it had been exchanged for ice.

He walked faster towards the castle then, knowing just how dangerous becoming frozen could be without any means to get warm. He could lose more than his pride if he didn’t find a way to get dry, or off the mountain soon enough.

There was no easily visible track to the outer courtyard at the entrance. In fact, there was only a direct line to the front door, a wall of overgrown roses blocking the rest of the yard from the front. Laurent couldn’t climb or slip his way through them without getting hurt, much less ride a horse through them. There must be another way in, hidden, or perhaps only through the back, but it would mean entering the castle to find it. Steeling himself, he pulled on the large handle of the door, hearing it groan and hoping the sound of distant thunder was enough to hide the noise.

Whatever room the light was in, it was not this one. The foyer was dark, with long shapes cast in shadow whenever another flash of lightning struck in the distance. In the brief glimpses Laurent received, he could see a dizzyingly high entrance that ended in a grand staircase. The hall was flanked by two rooms; the door to his left was closed, but the right led to a dining room with an extensive table by a fireplace, its embers long gone out, and some chairs pushed haphazardly in while others were knocked over. The floor was covered in the feathers of what looked like a large bird, the prey of some giant animal no doubt. The table itself was set for a feast, each setting in its place with forks and knives still laid as if the revelry had just been interrupted. Whatever had happened here, he did not wish to see himself become a part of its story. 

He pocketed the knife nearest to him, and made his way down the empty hall, hoping to find a kitchen or a servant’s entrance.

Laurent was just reaching for the nearest door when the sound of breaking glass came from beyond it. He raised the knife in his hand, heart pounding and ready to defend himself. When no culprit appeared for several moments, he took a tentative step away from it. Whoever was here, he no longer believed he could turn their meeting cordial. He turned immediately for the staircase, hoping to evade his host.

No sooner had he ascended unto the landing did he hear the sound of the door downstairs opening with a _bang_ . It was enough to make him jolt and race for the nearest door. Laurent pulled but it was locked. Frantically he tried to turn it by force as quietly as he could, but no amount of his strength could break it. _If Damen had been here…_

But he wasn’t. Laurent was beginning to panic. The sound of something large shuffling below him had him moving, doors be damned. Laurent bolted for the end of the hall and managed to turn the corner to the left right as he heard the sound of claws coming up the stairs. If it was the animal that had left its kill all over the dining room floor, it would surely sniff him out and fast. 

Looking down the wing he’d just turned, he could see a door ajar up ahead. Without a second thought he ran for it, slipping inside and into the darkness beyond just as he heard the beast’s clacking feet on the stone floors.

Laurent didn’t wait to see if it had heard him, moving through the room to the window at the opposite end. His feet tripped over rugs and broken furniture in the darkness, but there was just enough light from the storm that he could make out a balcony just beyond the glass. Going back out into the cold was better than facing whatever threat lay waiting behind him.

Searching the room, he grabbed a cloth covering a table as he rushed to the balcony and in no time tied it tight to the railing, peering down the ledge to the grounds below. The earth was covered in white, and Laurent already began to shiver as he felt the ice digging into his bare hands. From his vantage point he could see that there was a stable not far off from this side of the castle, and next to it a narrow path that led back to the entrance. He could make it if he climbed down quickly enough.

Although his ankle throbbed, he held onto the makeshift rope until he was almost halfway down the side of the wall, but there wasn’t enough to cover the rest of the distance — another six feet or so. He’d have to jump, or try to grab onto the crumbling bricks. Taking his chances, he dropped to the ground, trying not to land on his already aching foot.

The wind was knocked out of him for a second time, and he lay there on his back for one breath, then two.

It was all the time he gave himself to recover, and then Laurent was on his feet, trying not to moan out loud in pain as now he added his arm to the list of inquiries he’d be dealing with once he made it back to camp. Hopefully Paschal had enough salves in his stores for both Damen and himself. _If I make it back at all._

Limping harder now, he made it to the first stall door, only to find it empty. The next stall was just as barren, and the next and the next. A dead end.

All at once he wished he’d brought Damen along, or at least waited out the storm before trying to pursue his missing liaison. Berenger would be too far ahead by miles, and his chances here of keeping safe and hidden until he could escape were growing slimmer by the minute.

He needed to go back to the ravine, search for another way to climb the slopes and hope for a hunting party to pass, or try to make his way to Vask in daylight. But the rush he’d felt running through his veins in his attempt to escape was washing out of him bit by bit now. It was taking everything he had not to slump to the floor against the empty stall door, trying to catch his breath while thinking of a way out of this that didn’t involve going back the way he came. There was no horse to ride out on, but if he could make it back to the entrance...

He cursed to himself. The wall of roses... 

It was impenetrable from where Laurent had stood, but it didn’t make any sense to bar your only means of transport from entering or leaving your courtyard. No lord would make a path for a horse or carriage that led to a blockade of thorns. There must have been a gate that Laurent couldn’t see from the other side. He knew he was running out of time. Standing up on shaking legs, he peered around the stable door to see if his host and pet had followed.

There was no sign of another person, animal or otherwise on the balcony, and no footprints in the snow tracing his own. That didn’t mean he wasn’t seen, but it could mean they were heading down the stairs to head him off. He needed to make his break for it now.

Taking one step forward into the ice reminded him that he was still soaking wet, so he looked around the stalls for a blanket. Seeing a single ratty piece of cloth hanging on the door, he threw it around himself. The fabric was moth eaten and tattered, but it already made him feel leagues warmer than he had been without it.

Wasting no more time, he took off for the gates. His every other step made his ankle ache, and his arm was no better as he tried to keep himself balanced while running in the quickly building snow.

He hadn’t made it more than twenty yards when suddenly something large swooped over him, the wind in its wake bowling him over. In the darkness, he could barely make out its silhouette, but he felt more than heard when it landed in front of him, blocking his escape. It was massive, some kind of eagle he had never seen before, and in the next flash of lightning Laurent froze.

He gasped out loud, his eyes widening as he realized this creature was no natural fauna. Its wings and body were that of a bird, but its face… It was the face of a man, only not. Eyes like a hawk’s, green as the sky in a tempest, and framed by a wreath of bright crimson feathers.

“So this is the little thief wandering my halls,” it purred at him, its slit eyes piercing him where he lay prone.

Laurent couldn’t speak, couldn’t think beyond the terror taking over him. For the first time in many years, his mind was blank.

In the short silence, it pinned him with a sharp-toothed smile that did nothing to soothe his rising heart rate. Laurent watched as its claws slipped through the packed snow like a hot knife as it slowly approached him on all fours.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” it cooed, sinfully sweet and gravelly, like grains of sugar that had not yet melted. Laurent could only stare in horror as it grew closer, its shadow casting over him with each crack of lightning.

“I... I wasn’t looking for anything-”

“Liar _,_ ” it sang, raising a single clawed finger up to point into Laurent’s face, so close he could feel the heat coming off its body. “You were looking for me, weren’t you?” 

His limbs were shaking now. “I-I was looking for shelter.”

“Just that?” it jibed, drawling and thick. Laurent tried to nod but could not get his head to move. 

In the space of a blink, it pounced upon Laurent in a single leap. He let out an oof at the impact, vision swimming as his blood pounded in alarm. The beast’s claws were gripping him tightly, a vice from which he could not struggle. Even if he could reach it, he did not think the knife in his pocket would do harm enough to see him leave here alive.

“I felt your presence the moment you entered my domain,” it whispered blithely, its feathers brushing up against Laurent’s ear. “I heard you skulking about, creeping your way along my walls. I know what you were after.” Its lips swept across his forehead, breathing in along his hairline, letting out a deep rumble from its chest. Laurent could not hide the whimper that escaped his throat. He had only been held like this by one other.

Another sweep of lips down his cheeks made him freeze, unwilling to comprehend the position he found himself in as they traced their way down the side of his face, disgustingly hot and damp. 

Laurent twisted his face away before their lips could meet. It snorted, a blast of hot air that made Laurent flinch. His teeth chattered as he tried to speak past the bile rising in his throat. 

“Let me go. I won’t t-tell anyone about this p-place.”

“Let you go?” it said, ignoring his pleas as its voice pitched high in faux offense. “How could I when you’ve only just arrived? What a terrible host I’ve been. You simply must stay.” 

Laughing, it rose to its full height, towering over Laurent on the legs still pinning him down. It spread its massive wings wide, fluttering them open like a shroud, and all Laurent could see was _red red red_ as they lifted off the ground. 

“Perhaps a night in my dungeons will make you feel better.”

\--------

Berenger was running behind. The pack of mountain horses he’d brought with him had kept pace with his own at a steady gait, but they’d had to stop. They were supposed to be over the pass in the next half hour. Laurent would be making his rendezvous soon, and Berenger would need to be ready to meet the Vaskian messenger at the border by daybreak. 

The look of the storm ahead did not give him any hope of making that timeframe for his part of the arrangement. He’d need to either wait it out or push through it and risk nature’s wrath to arrive at their appointed time.

The odds did not look to be in their favor. Without any way of knowing what lay beyond the storm, Berenger did not want to chance the exchange going sour because of his own poor judgement.

In the meantime, he let a few of the horses graze on the sparse bits of foliage that poked out of the cracks and crags around them. He’d given them plenty of feed before the journey, but all this deliberating had made them agitated. Even his own steed, Asher, a light horse who was perfect for handling these tight roads with a herd, was pig-jumping at the dirt to move along. Soothing him with a handful of seeds from Berenger’s saddlebag seemed to appease him temporarily.

Taking another look at the sky, the clouds did not appear to be moving in any one direction. As if it had simply fixed itself over this one point, flashing menacingly in the dark of night. It was puzzling, but all the more frustrating as he needed to move the horses along. Twenty mountain horses bred for an army could only be still for so long without riders before they scattered, no matter how good their training.

He would give himself another hour, marking the time with the brief glimpses of the moon he could see in between the clouds. That should give the storm plenty of time to drain itself out.

Berenger dismounted, deciding to at least corral the one or two stragglers he could see already starting to wander off in their curiosity. They weren’t the most beautiful horses, but they would do as fine stock for the Empress’s clan. The last time he’d met with Halvik, she had offered him one of her own steeds, a hefty draft horse stallion she’d commandeered from a group of male raiders the night before and wanted more of. Her gift had bred half the horses here alone. Knowing her majesty’s love of the breed, he could already imagine the slow smirk she would give when she found out how many had turned out to be mares.

His thoughts drifted back to Laurent as they usually did when he was thinking of horses. Laurent was one of the few people who was as invested in their care as he was in riding them, and Berenger grew ill at the thought of what the Regent had done to the prince’s horse during the hunt nearly two months ago. The look in its eyes as he’d helped put an end to its suffering still haunted him. No horse should have been taken so cruelly from one who loved it so.

Sighing to himself, he brushed down the hair on the neck of the last horse as he brought it back into the herd. Two more were drifting away, so he set about tying their reins together to end the matter. It would have to do until the storm abated.

He was tying the last of them to the trunk of a tree when he heard it; braying, far off in the distance. It couldn’t have been one of his own, they were all accounted for, so he waited, hoping it was not a passing traveler who might discover his team.

He did not have to wait long, as the sound of hooves in full gallop made his stomach drop. He had only brought a dagger with him, the barest protection against any encounters but perfect for cutting ropes. It was dark, the clouds shadowing the moon, and he prayed for its cover for just long enough for the rider to pass by him unawares.

There was no such luck though, as the next second the clouds drifted away to let a wash of light come down over him and the team. Blood began to rush in his ears, a steady pounding that only grew louder as the lone horse neared, slowing its pace down as it approached them.

But no one was there atop it. No rider, only the horse, who seemed to be calming with ease around the other horses, still panting but coming to a stop completely. He reached into the pocket of his jacket where a few sugar cubes still remained. Slowly he moved forward, raising his arms so it could see him, talking softly to it until he could get close enough to inspect its saddle.

Gripping its reins, he pulled its head down until it ceased prancing anxiously, smoothing his hand across its sweat-licked mane in slow even strokes. Holding his other hand out, the horse eagerly kept its head bent to lick the sweets from his palm. 

“There now, that wasn’t so bad. Let’s see who you belong to.” His hand traveled from neck to saddle, tilting the brand on the flap into the light. 

His own insignia gleamed back at him innocently. 

This was not some random horse who’d bucked its rider. He’d left it specifically for Laurent to ride up into the mountains, and now it had been running blind in the night without him.

“Where is your rider…” he whispered, an anxious feeling settling in his gut.

Laurent wouldn’t have let the horse run off in the night, he would have done everything in his power to ensure its safety as well as his own. Either he’d made it to his destination and run into trouble, or trouble had run into him. The fear Beringer had felt gripping his heart moments before came racing back.

Berenger didn’t give it a second thought. He rushed back over to Asher, grabbing the unlit lantern he had brought as a signal with him, tucking the flint into his jacket. The horses were tied together, the tree he’d lashed the last one to strong enough to hold twice as many of them. It would have to do until he returned. 

He climbed into the saddle of the chestnut, turning it swiftly back towards where it had come barreling from, right into the storm. Hopefully it could handle another hard ride, as he didn’t think there would be much time if Laurent was worse than slightly injured.

His voice was like steel as he leaned forward in the seat. “Lead me to him.” 

Giving it one hard kick, they were off.

\--------

Berenger had ridden as far as the poor horse could go at a full sprint, only slowing to a trot as they made their way closer to the thunder. He didn’t have a chance of keeping dry, so he didn’t bother worrying about it, but he lit the lantern to guide their way. It wasn’t raining heavily at first, but in no time it was coming down in sheets, and even with the lantern he could only see another few feet ahead. 

The road suddenly became impassable, a huge shape rising out of the darkness. A rockslide, perhaps the very thing that had separated Laurent from his horse in the first place. Sliding off the chestnut, he raised the lantern higher, hoping to see some shred of proof of Laurent’s fate. If he had been crushed, surely the horse would have been too. When no evidence of his demise surfaced, he gingerly picked his way around the wreckage, calling out for Laurent as loud as he could over the torrent. No answer came.

Looking back at the horse, he could see it was growing unnerved. Carefully he guided it around the carnage, still hoping to hear Laurent’s voice over the storm. There was no sign of a struggle here, but he could just make out the hoofprints of a single horse. The rockslide must have frightened it, and Laurent, no doubt soaking wet from the storm, had lost his grip and fallen in the ensuing chaos. Rather than try to catch his ride, he had continued for the border on foot.

It didn’t make any sense, though, as there was no sign that he had left to make his rendezvous once he lost the horse. He could not even see any footprints in the mud that indicated he had made it back onto his feet.

Right as Berenger was about to climb back up into the saddle to try and search further ahead, the lantern swung in his hand, the light spilling across something bright just beneath him. Stepping back down, he bent to examine it.

It was a piece of fabric, caked in mud, but just beneath the dirt he could see a bit of color. Sky blue with the tiniest bit of gold thread.

_Laurent._

So he _had_ fallen here, but then, where had he disappeared to? There were only two directions he could have gone, and one was straight down into what looked like a long ravine. Unless, he hadn’t had a choice.

Stepping towards the edge, the light confirmed his suspicions. There, just a few feet ahead, was another piece of Laurent’s shirt caught on a branch. He hadn’t just been thrown, he’d been _tossed_.

“Laurent!”

Seconds passed. There was no answer.

There was no time to lose; Laurent could be hurt or _worse_ at the bottom of the cliff. Berenger wouldn’t be able to carry him up such an incline on his own. He needed to get the horse down there with him. There had been no easy way down the cliff for the entire ride, so he’d have to search and hope for one up ahead.

He only had to ride another quarter mile before he saw it; a ledge that gradually tapered off down into the ravine. It was very narrow, but it would have to do. He made his way down, hoping beyond hope that Laurent was fine, or had managed to find protection from the storm.

Reaching the ravine floor, he bought the lantern up once more to search for any signs of his prince’s trail. The rain had created a steady stream beneath his feet, and he watched his own footprints disappear behind him as he threaded his way forward. Even if Laurent had come this way, his tracks would have been washed away by now.

There was no going back though, so he pushed on. He _must_ be down here somewhere, and Berenger would find him, and get him to safety.

They walked another thirty yards before the ravine began to level out, giving enough space for him to let the horse walk beside him instead of behind. There was still no sign of Laurent’s passage, but it was promising that the rain was letting up.

He had barely had the thought when something else caught his eye, and he stopped in his tracks.

In the distance, he could see a light. A giant gleaming white castle, in fact, with a path that led directly from its gates to the ravine.

Letting out a shaky breath, he let the relief wash over him only briefly. They still had a long journey ahead of them, but at least this much he was sure of. Laurent had been able to stand, and make his way on his own. Now he just needed to find him. Whatever attending he needed, Berenger would see to it, but they would still need to hurry. They’d both lost so much time, dawn was only hours away and Laurent would only have another day before he would be expected at Aquitart.

As he grew closer though, the rain he’d felt easing off slowly turned to ice hitting his skin. He could see now that the reason for the roof’s tint was not because of its make, but because of snow. A heavy powder of it was blanketed all over the structure and the surrounding estate. It was curious, but the thought slipped his mind as something else caught his attention. Crossing the bridge allowed Berenger to see something else he’d been longing for; a pair of recent footprints, heading inside.

No matter how the elements had beaten this fortress into disrepair, it would still be disrespectful to cart an animal inside. The castle itself was falling apart, and clearly no one had tended its gardens in months, possibly years, judging by the state of the roses acting as a barrier to the rest of the castle yard. He left the gelding just outside the door, its reins wrapped to the lowest branch without thorns that he could reach. With luck he’d find Laurent in minutes, and sparing any large distractions, they’d be leaving shortly.

The foyer was completely empty, not even the usual sight of mice and bugs one normally finds chittering about to be seen. There was, however, a distressing amount of feathers all over the floor. Giant primaries, nearly the length of his forearm. They shone like rubies in the lantern light.

There was no sign of Laurent, though, so he kept going. Every room he entered seemed to be as empty as the last, furniture strewn about as if the residents had left in a hurry. Smashed dishes were all over the tiles in the kitchen, and the stairs only led to hallway after hallway of locked doors, enormous statues of fantastical creatures separating them. Calling out softly yielded no response as well.

That anxious feeling he’d been carrying with him began to creep back up again. Laurent wouldn’t have ventured so deep into this place if he intended to lick his wounds and be on his way. 

Something must have spurred him into hiding.

After trying the last door at the end of another hallway, he heard the faintest sound of something hitting the floor below him with a dull _thud._ Turning, he tried to discern where it originated from, until another _thump_ came. It was so distant, it must have come from somewhere below the first floor.

He rushed back down to the entrance, cursing himself for not thinking to check for the cellars. He’d been so caught up in locating the source of the light that it never occurred to him that Laurent had moved to avoid detection. A windowless basement would be perfect for someone engaged in subterfuge who needed to stay safe for a short while.

As he got closer to the downstairs landing though, the sound of something large thumping against the wall made him stop. That was too big to be Laurent, no matter how much he’d trained at the sword.

It was followed by a high, rumbling shriek, something Berenger had only heard from falcons and eagles on the hunt.

Racing towards the sound of fighting, he could hear Laurent’s voice coming from a door he’d missed on his first pass through the kitchen. It came cutting like a knife as whatever he fought against screeched its disapproval over being attacked. In the next second, it wasn’t the beast that screamed, but Laurent, followed by the sound of a door slamming shut.

Berenger tiptoed his way down the stairs, two voices reaching him now. Laurent was still talking at least, but it was rasping, clearly painful. The other was higher, crowing in triumph. He wasn’t close enough to make out what they were saying, but he knew he had the advantage. Laurent’s captor didn’t know he was here. 

Berenger reached for the dagger hanging from his hip, glinting in the light from the lantern as he tried to think of how to lure it towards him while it was still off-guard. 

He realized his mistake too late.

With a whistle of air, Berenger was suddenly face to face with an impossible sight. Two striking emerald eyes glaring down at him with indignation, and something else, although he did not have time to guess. It lunged for him, and in their tussle the dagger and light went flying out of Berenger’s hands. He was pinned unceremoniously to the cold floor in seconds.

_That explains the feathers,_ was his first thought, seeing stars as his head throbbed from the blow. The second was that he was staring down a being from myth, and it was _furious_.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing a friend.” Its clawed foot pressed Berenger into the stone, keeping him there with hardly any effort on its part. “Two guests in one night, and no invitation for it. How aggravating.”

“Is this how- you treat a guest?” He asked dazedly.

“When they are welcome,” it purred viciously.

“And when they are not?”

It did not answer him, choosing instead to lean just a little more into the claws holding Berenger down. 

“Berenger?” Laurent’s voice came softly, sounding far more young than he was.

Chancing a glance up at Laurent, he could just make out the tremor in his hands as he watched their argument unfold. Laurent looked like he couldn’t believe Berenger was here, but more than that, he looked like he’d been dragged through the mud kicking and screaming. His breathing was ragged from the fight, and Berenger could just make out a smear of blood on his lips. 

Berenger broke their connection, staring back up into the creature’s dangerously beautiful face. “And what of my friend? Was he welcome?”

“Him, no. He chose to prevail himself upon my hospitality, much like you are doing.”

Laurent spoke for himself then, clearly affronted at the mere notion of doing anything he did not explicitly want. “I didn’t choose- any such thing. I only- needed shelter.”

Berenger felt his own disbelief fading away for a new feeling; outrage. “For that you’d lock him away,” he gritted out, barely keeping his own anger in check. “For the smallest inconvenience to you of a roof over his head while he recovers.”

“I did not strike the first blow, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“No, you only intended to make it the last.”

The creature bore down on him then, smiling so all its teeth glistened in the dim flame left in the lantern. It took all his strength to keep the weight of its body from crushing him. “He knew what he was seeking. He knew I would not part with such an offering.”

With no other avenues left, he begged. “Please, can you not see he’s hurt? At least let him free so I can tend to him.”

“Certainly not. Whatever state my guests come to me in is of no concern to me.” The creature sniffed, leaning back, nose turned up at the idea of it all. “Besides, he will be of use to me.”

Licking his lips, he latched onto that last statement. If it needed someone to use, Berenger would do. “I have a better deal for you.”

It opened its eyes, peering at him with indifference. When Berenger did not speak right away, it waved one of its hands, gesturing for him to go on with clear irritation.

“Take me, instead.”

“ _You?_ ” It gave a booming laugh, stepping off of Berenger’s chest to circle him. The agonizing pressure had not abated, but he could not turn his back to such a creature. He rose to his knees, still too winded to attempt anything. Sweeping its fiery eyes from his torn jacket and mud stained breaches, down to his even muddier boots, its gaze reeked of disdain. “You couldn’t afford my price.”

“If it’s a servant you want, you will have one in me for his freedom. I will do whatever you wish of me, but only if you release him.” That seemed to give the creature pause.

“You’re serious.” It sounded confused, like it had never heard of the concept. 

Behind him he heard Laurent let out a quiet gasp. “Berenger, don’t do this.” 

An order from his prince normally would have stopped him. Closing his eyes, Berenger knelt before the creature in subservience. “You have my word.”

He could hear its throat click, a low trill rumbling from its chest. He tried to hide the shiver in his spine as he felt one of its claws tilt his chin up, appraising him no doubt.

“Hmm. Very well.”

In a flurry of feathers, it breezed passed him, opening the door to Laurent’s cell. Laurent tumbled out into a heap beside him, rising shakily to his own knees. Berenger turned to him, taking him by the shoulders as Laurent looked up at him, cold and… scared. He tried to channel all the calm he wasn’t feeling into his voice.

“Ride north. The horses are waiting.”

“Baba-”

The beast hefted Laurent up in a sharp tug, effectively cutting off whatever he might have been about to say. His feet were lifted off the floor entirely as it dragged him out of the dungeons.

“Wait-!” he could hear Laurent pleading with the creature, but his voice was gone in the next second, the door echoing shut. In the silence that followed, Berenger let everything that had just happened wash over him.

He staggered back into the damp wall, putting his face in his hands. He hadn’t done nearly enough for Laurent. There was still so much more he could do; allies he could have made, supplies he could have had delivered. The images began to haunt him already of everything he hadn’t accomplished, but at least this last request could be fulfilled. Laurent would have to bring the horses to the Empress himself, but if his slave really had become as valuable of a pawn in the prince’s game as he’d implied in his brief letters, they might be able to pull the trade off without Berenger.

It would have to be enough, at least until he could find a way to either secure his freedom or kill the creature himself. With that thought in mind, he glanced up at the one window that looked back out into the front yard. The chestnut gelding was still grazing there, but in a few moments, Berenger watched as the creature tossed Laurent onto his back without preamble or care, ushering them along with a powerful gust from its wings. From this distance, he couldn't discern a word he might have said, but he could see Laurent looking back for him. That simple gesture of Laurent’s concern made him smile.

The creature had sent Laurent on his way, just like it had promised. For a moment, he let the resignation of his new situation be set aside, and allowed himself to hope. There was nothing but danger out there for Laurent, but he was free of this prison at least.

_Please, be enough. Let this be enough._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at last, we have our meeting :)
> 
> i warned yall i am terrible at keeping a schedule, cant even expect a holiday to be of any help to me
> 
> thank u so much to my beta [comma](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Commaeleons) who helped me turn this disaster into something resembling a plot, love ya fam :3
> 
> hope everyone had a good week, and of course, feel free to leave kudos or comments if you liked this chapter! next chapter is already in the works but i am probably not gonna get it out til next next weekend, sorry in advance


	3. turquoise thrasher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for canon typical violence this round

turquoise thrasher

\--------

Berenger waited at the bottom of the stairs for what felt like ages, but was probably closer to minutes.

There was no sound that came from above, save for the echoing crash of the heavy front door bouncing on its hinges. The creature had returned, but was paused at the threshold for some unseen reason. He could hear its heavy feet clacking back and forth across the tiles, pacing as it thought about its plans for its more willing guest no doubt.

_It’s going to notice I have no skills in cooking or cleaning very quickly._ He thought, huffing to himself. It wasn’t actually funny at all, but there was certainly some irony in serving a creature of legend when his entire trade revolved around tending to beasts of burden. _I’ve traded one for another, only this kind can talk. If only my horses had its ability_. That thought actually made him laugh. A wet, choked cough of one, but a laugh nonetheless.

It chose that moment to return.

“Something funny?” it drawled, smooth as unspun silk. The entire shape of it filled the doorway, and Berenger felt himself shrink down out of instinct.

Berenger swallowed, schooling himself back to his usual manner. “No, I just thought-”

“No?” it interrupted indelicately, although it’s voice was sweet. “Then keep it to yourself. If I had wanted an entertainer, I would have asked for one.”

It’s haughty eyes peered down at him through slits, goading him into giving the wrong response. After several moments of tense silence, Berenger lowered his gaze. He opened his mouth again, a scathing retort on the tip of his tongue, then thought better of it. "My apologies.” 

It raised an eyebrow at him expectantly. 

“...my lord,” he added, hoping the bitterness wouldn’t show in his voice.

“Better,” it purred. “Now come.”

Without a glance back, it made for the stairs out of the cellars, it’s feathers glittering in the dim light still shining from his overturned lantern. Berenger quickly scrambled to his feet to follow rather than stay another minute in the dark cells where he’d given everything away, grabbing the lantern as he passed.

There were so many questions he wanted to ask, like why it thought Laurent had been looking for it, or what it even _was_ , but he kept them all locked behind his lips as they made their way back upstairs. Every step they made reminded him of the impossibility of his situation, each _clik_ of its talons a percussion. The quiet rasp of its wings brushing along the carpet clashed with the threat that they were connected to.

The silence seemed to stretch on forever as they wound their way back up to the second floor, the locked hallway of doors looking more like a graveyard lit up only in their passing. Every few steps, Berenger would spare a glimpse at the sculptures he had passed earlier in the night, and in return feel their own eyes peering back at him. It only made the shiver in his spine grow worse.

When they arrived at a much smaller set of stairs, the beast stopped, Berenger almost careening into it’s huge wings. It peered at him over its shoulder, as if debating killing him right there for the affront. Berenger immediately took a step back, trying to look apologetic.

“I have a few rules for you,” it murmured, seemingly content before beginning its trek up the narrow staircase. “First is that you don’t enter any rooms on the second floor without my permission.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Second is that this castle provides anything I ask of it, but in return does not vanish it once I no longer need it. I want a clean home, so I expect you will know how to remedy that. I’m not hoping for miracles, given how filthy you are.”

Berenger almost asked why it was even necessary for him to be a servant then, but stopped himself before he lost his head. “Yes, my lord.”

"Third, you will dine with me every night.”

At that he almost tripped. “Every night?”

It glared back at him, eyes like steel. “Did I stutter?”

He felt himself flush, and went back to watching his feet. “No, forgive me.”

“You’ll have my forgiveness once you’ve proven yourself useful to me.”

Berenger swallowed down his retort, his grip tightening on the lantern.

"Lastly, and this is most important, so listen well," it stopped on the stair, spinning around to look down at him menacingly. It's words were soft and cloying, but danger danced behind every syllable. "Under no circumstances are you to enter the third floor. Should you cross that threshold, you will see how quickly my tolerance for trespassers evaporates."

"Yes, my lord…"

They continued on in heavy silence until they reached the top, pausing on the landing.

“These will be your quarters.” It waved a hand to the only set of doors ahead, but made no effort to open them. 

Berenger stepped carefully past it, turning the handle to reveal a large circular room, clearly a private chamber for visiting nobility with it’s lush carpets and layers of quilts on the massive bed. A small but ornate fireplace was tucked neatly into the corner by the bed, already burning brightly. He walked with some trepidation into the room, mindful not to tread on the rugs with his dirt caked heels. This was no room for a servant, he was sure of it, so why had it brought him here?

The creature swept into the room behind him, looking cramped as it tucked its wings in tightly. Gesturing to the chests by the far wall, it didn’t bother to turn to address him. “At dinner you will be dressed appropriately. If you should arrive looking anything like you do right now, I’m sure we can find lodgings more suited to your…tastes.”

“My tastes?” Berenger looked at it with confusion evident on his face.

It flicked its gaze down at his muddy boots again, nose twisting up like it had smelled something rotten, before smoothing its lips back out into a smirk. “Perhaps a room in the stables.”

“No- I mean, thank you, this is more than I could ask for. My lord.” He bowed his head, hoping it wouldn’t notice his blunder. “I will do my best to wear something _suitable_.”

“Good.” It stood awkwardly in the room for a moment, almost as if it thought there would be more of a protest. “If that is all you need.”

Berenger walked across the room, but honestly saw nothing he either needed or wanted, aside from an obvious escape route which did not provide itself. Clearly the castle only listened to its master. Sighing, he set the lantern down onto the nearest chest. “Thank you, my lord.”

The feel of feathers brushing against his back almost startled him. He turned his head and came face to face with the creature looking down at him with a strange expression. “Something on your mind?”

Berenger thought for a moment, about the precariousness of his new situation -- knowing nothing of his ‘host’ but already fearing its temper -- and forgave himself for being truthful just this once. There was one small window in the room, no wider than an arms width across, that looked out on the mountains and the range beyond. He nodded his head towards it.

“I only hope he’s safe.”

A wrinkle curled up in its brow, there and gone in a flash.

“Your work begins at first light.”

Before he could respond, it was gone, the door already shut behind it with a soft _click_.

Letting out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, he collapsed back into the bed, muddy clothes and all. He prayed to the stars that sleep would find him swiftly.

\--------

By sunrise, Berenger had slept so dreadfully that having not slept would have been better.

His dreams had been fretful to say the least, nightmare after nightmare of Laurent meeting a terrible end with Berenger powerless to stop his demise. His bones ached as he laid there, all the running and adrenaline from the flight having left him sore all over. He felt like a bruise in human form.

Of course, he wasn’t going to let that keep him from performing whatever tasks his ‘master’ had waiting for him. Having spent less than one day inside his new home, though, he had no idea where to even begin. He assumed it would want breakfast, so cleaning his face up, he opened the chests to change into something clean.

Opening the first one made his chest clench.

Every scrap of fabric inside was red. 

No matter how little he cared about his own wardrobe, it felt seditious to be donning the colors of the Regency.

When wishing for any other color to appear didn’t work, he told himself it would only be for as long as he could come up with a plan to get back to Varenne. Parsins could handle the estate in his absence for months, but disappearing entirely would put too much strain on the aging staff’s shoulders.

He picked out a thicker set of tunics and wore them on top of each other. He threw his jacket on as well, tucking the tunics into a pair of plain dark pants and rolling the cuffs up into the jacket sleeves until he couldn’t see any red at all. It would have to do for now. Everything else was too fine to ruin so early in his stay, or too portentous. Velvets and embroidered silks and other fabrics so thin he could see his hands through them, every bit as unsuited to a servant as a fly in soup and all doused in obnoxious red.

Making his way down the stairs to the kitchens was an exercise in discipline. Every statue and locked door was a temptation wrapped in innocent curiosity, but no less inviting in the muted daylight that came in through the large windows. Dust motes danced in front of him as his steps echoed in the empty halls, his only company as he tried to remember the path to the kitchen. 

Stepping into the kitchen made him realize how little he’d paid attention to the state of it in his frantic search for the Prince. It was just as barren and unwelcoming in the morning as it was at night, dishes scattered across counters, the broken pieces of others still lying there on the floor. But the disarray was only part of its lack of charm.

It was completely covered in dust and decaying food. Loaves of bread half eaten, and exotic fruits with only a single bite taken out of them, had been left to rot on platters. A breadbox was open, though it seemed nothing had touched it yet. A bowl of large eggs sat beside it, and next to that, a tray of soft butter, partially used and covered in crumbs on one end. Peeking into a few cupboards did not yield much more than a few bags of grain and some millet. There didn’t appear to be a pantry, however there was an icebox by the door that led to the dungeons. He focused on the icebox. 

Peering inside revealed a smorgasbord of cut meats and fish, all looking as fresh as the day they had been caught. Above it hung loops of sausages and dried herbs in bundles. One of the bundles had been picked clean down to the stems so he could no longer tell what it had been.

Looking at the ceiling, he could hear no sound coming from the upper floors. Wherever his host was resting, it hadn’t seen the need to get up as early as Berenger had. _So much for giving orders at first light_ , he thought with a huff, but thanked the creature for giving him more time to himself to think.

Pushing his sleeves up, he closed the icebox and got to work.

\--------

The falling snow outside made it hard to tell just how high the sun had risen, but judging by the shadows on the floor, it was closer to noon than morning when he finished making breakfast. Berenger had cleared out all the rotted food, swept the jagged pieces of broken pottery into a bin he’d found, and washed and dried the remaining plates and cups. It had taken longer than usual, as he had to find soap and cloth first, and upon seeing the sink, realized that it needed to be cleaned as well. By the time he’d finished getting all the grime out of the sink, he had already shed his jacket and one of the tunics to cool himself down.

The stove itself was nearly pristine, only a few smudges of grease here and there. Obviously it had not been used often, if at all, since its owners arrival. It made cooking up a simple meal of puliszka with bacon far easier, especially since it was the only thing he knew how to make from memory. He didn’t have any milk, but the goat cheese he’d found would substitute well enough.

Spooning the gooey mixture into two large bowls, he cracked two eggs directly on top of the hot puliszka, watching the yolk bubble and pop in the lingering heat. He carefully poured the still sizzling strips of bacon onto the runny eggs, hoping that it would satisfy his still absent host. He didn’t know its preferences, but surely it would be pleased to not have to ask for its meal.

Still, there came no sound from above as he finished clearing the mess he’d made. Either his master preferred a late breakfast, or was out hunting for it itself. Berenger didn’t care to know the details.

Grabbing up the bowls, he made his way out of the kitchen and into the stillness of the foyer. He nearly dropped them both in surprise.

The creature was sat down at the dining table, leaned casually on one elbow with a plate of half eaten grapes and little cubes of cheese in front of it, as if it had been waiting for hours. Perhaps it had.

“I know it’s only your first day on the job,” it said, derision dripping off its tongue. “But I do think I made myself clear when I said that the castle provides my meals _for_ me.”

Berenger wanted to kick himself. Yes, it had said the castle would provide anything it asked for, so obviously it didn’t need him to cook for it. He’d wasted all that time and effort for nothing. “I apologize, my lord.”

It let out a beleaguered sigh, then stood up from its chair with a creak. “Hopefully your stupidity doesn’t extend to simple chores. Once you’ve finished your meal, you had better be ready to work. When you are finished with a task, you will come to me, and I will assign you another. I had plans for you today that are horribly off schedule now, so don’t think for a second that you will be slacking off like this again.”

It headed swiftly up the stairs, disappearing as silently as a hawk, until he heard the sound of a distant door slamming. Looking at the dining table, still covered in the forgotten feast from who knows when and now this extra setting, Berenger turned around and headed back for the kitchen. At least he could be alone with his thoughts for a little while longer in there.

\--------

For the rest of the day, Berenger found himself feeling like prey being stalked by a mercurial predator.

It had returned shortly after he’d finished his food, a scowl already pulling its lips in different directions before tossing a mop and bucket at him like they had scalded its scaled hands. It informed Berenger that since the kitchen was at least presentable, it hoped he would attempt to ask for what he needed from then on instead of relying on his own wits, which were doubtlessly unreliable. Rather than apologize again, he asked for soap and water to start cleaning the floors. Like magic, the bucket filled itself until it was steaming high with bubbles, making him gasp out loud. He turned to thank his master but there was no one there.

There was no hunter in the world who could have heard its approach or departure apparently, despite its massive size. He only noticed its presence when it deigned to make it known.

Such as when Berenger was polishing the silverware, hissing at him to rub the polish in more _delicately_ , making him jump at the noise and drop the fork in his hand, denting the soft metal. It had been there when he’d nearly knocked the candelabra on the (now cleared) dining table over as it tutted behind him about missing a piece of wax. It had been there the second Berenger was finished dusting all the busts and statues in the locked hall, scrutinizing his work and tsk-ing when it found that most of the dust had transferred to Berenger instead.

No wonder it had pounced so easily on his prince. Berenger was beginning to think it revelled in making men’s hearts leap out of their chests.

Still, he kept his head down, working until the lingering shadows outside began to fade into the golden light of sunset. He hadn’t even noticed that the lamps, which had been dark the night before, were lit up in every room he entered. He was just beginning to wonder if they’d be eating dinner soon when he turned the corner and nearly ran right into the creature.

“You’re not very observant are you.” It remarked, although it didn’t sound like an insult. He bit his tongue.

“I don’t look beyond what I need to.” He grumbled, keeping his voice level.

“Much like an automaton,” it said dismissively, before steamrolling on. “Your ability to collect every speck of dirt and grime in this castle is truly commendable, but you will go wash yourself immediately. I won’t tolerate an odious dinner partner.”

It turned around, as if remembering something important.

“Oh yes~” It smiled wickedly at him over its shoulder. “If you don’t come back clean, you won’t be eating.”

Berenger kept in the sigh behind his lips. “May I have a bath, my lord?”

“You may,” it tittered, clearly pleased at making him ask for absolutely everything. “Now hurry up, I won’t be kept waiting again.”

Berenger could feel his blood boiling, but there was no use in fighting a losing battle. He had not seen anything he could make a weapon out of, and the knives in the kitchen were useless if his captor could sneak up on him so easily and overpower him in seconds. Every free moment he’d tried to plan had been eaten up by the monotony of a new task. He stomped his way upstairs, letting the frustration out with every heavy step of his boots. 

Opening his quarters revealed a tub in the center of the room, already filled to the brim with hot water, a tray of soaps and oils beside it. Damn his ‘master’, he would take his time getting clean. 

Some of the frustration slipped away as he sank into the steaming bath, even though his routine was still tainted with the knowledge that his captor was only being so generous because of its own peculiar exactions. He’d never used fancy oils or soaps himself, preferring to keep things simple, but all that was available to him here was lavender and bergamot. He picked the bergamot, as it was the least offensive to his nose.

After spending an extra few minutes in the bath to collect himself, he didn’t take his time choosing his outfit. The coat he picked out was the darkest red he could find quickly, a dark cherry velvet which made him feel slightly less like a traitor. The cut was rather lean but the trim was gold and made the color fade to almost black in comparison, even though he felt like a pompous tit wearing it.

Another chest gave him a pair of shiny black leather boots, along with a pair of soft cream trousers, tailored exactly to fit him. Whatever magic ran this place, the creature had to be quite explicit in its requests to provide such things.

The sun was completely set by the time he returned to the dining room, and after all the time he’d spent that day cleaning it from top to bottom, it looked fit for royalty. The china was spotless, the candles all lit, and tray upon tray of delicious smelling cuisine littered the space between him and his bored looking host.

It hummed absently, its eyes sweeping him up and down, taking him in. A glass of wine was perched delicately in its claws, the liquid swirling slightly before it leaned back to wave its free hand. The chair in front of Berenger slid out, as if invisible hands had pulled it back for him. He jumped back from it.

“Acceptable.”

“What?”

“I said, you look acceptable. You can do better. Now sit, I won’t repeat myself.”

Berenger hesitated at first, unsure of what would happen next before deciding it was better to obey than test its patience. The moment he sat down, the chair pushed him forward into the table, his hands coming up to stop him from being shoved into the edge.

“You clean up nicely, for a commoner.” it said, sipping at the wine as servings of the food on the table began floating on their own onto their plates. Berenger’s jaw dropped at the arrogance and the display, barely pulling himself together to reply. Obviously it didn’t know who Berenger was, but perhaps that could work to his advantage. He’d never been very good at acting, but he would try to keep the ruse up as long as he could get away with it.

“Thank you,” he said, trying to appear flattered although he was anything but. Food was piling onto his plate; pieces of roast duck with a crackling crust, thick gravy curling with steam, carrots in browned butter and more. It was enough to distract him momentarily from whom, or what, he was dining with. Even at court, he’d preferred the lighter meals of home over whatever nonsense fashion the Regent was following, but he couldn’t deny his hunger after having eaten nothing else since that morning.

For a short while, they ate in silence, broken only by the sound of Berenger’s knife and fork. His ‘partner’ had chosen to consume its own meal with its bare hands, picking tender morsels up between its claws and popping them daintily into its jagged mouth.

The quiet did not last long enough in his opinion.

“Where do you come from…Berenger, was it?” it asked, although it sounded more like an interrogation.

He paused, setting the fork back to his plate. It would be easier to hide the lie with parts of the truth. “Varenne, my lord.”

“And do they teach stable boys how to use the proper fork in Varenne?”

Berenger hadn’t even thought about it, but he _had_ used the right fork, something a commoner would have surely struggled with in higher company. He reached for an answer, but the only thing that came to mind was a memory of his lessons with Auguste. “No, but my prince saw to it that I learned before I joined his Highness at court.”

It hummed, accepting the answer as if that made any sense at all. A prince expecting etiquette of that caliber was surely not simply hoping to instill good manners. He’d all but implied that a prince had taken him, a lowly stablehand, as his _lover_.

“You were at court then? How peculiar, given that servants typically don’t eat off the fine china.” The slow tip of its nearly empty cup to its lips felt like the air was being sucked right out of his lungs.

“I didn’t,” he stammered out. “Dine with them. It was simply a lesson his Highness thought would improve my character.”

Now it was its turn to pause, emerald eyes boring into him over the rim of its glass. A moment of scrutiny turned into two, before it pulled its gaze away, gracefully setting its glass down with an elegant shrug. “I see it did not improve much.”

Berenger felt his face flush with heat, and could not hold himself back. “What do you want of me? Truly? If you need a target to unleash your exceeding condescension on, you will find no better, but every man has his breaking point.”

Its wings dragged across the table as it suddenly swept up out of its chair, its plate and several dishes nearby crashing to the floor in its wake. Berenger flinched at the noise, realizing his mistake too late, but it did not come to slash his throat.

“A pity that I am not a man,” it said hotly, before flying off for the stairs in a whirl of feathers.

Berenger was left to sit there at the table, suddenly bereft of an audience for his bewilderment.

Had…Had it been human once? Was that why it knew so much of the customs of royalty? Had it simply been asking because it longed for what it had once been a part of?

He felt like a fool, not stopping a second to wonder why a being would live in isolation like this when it so obviously desired company. Leaving the food to go cold, he knew he had to make amends. It would be crass of him to leave things as they stood when they still knew so little of each other. He realized even then that it had been making all the effort throughout the day, silently watching him work and finding the time to be mischievous.

Making his way up the stairs to the third floor, he hesitated at the doors. It had said never to enter, but Berenger was willing to bet those rules were bendable. As Auguste had always said, it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Pushing down his apprehension, he pulled on the ornate handles.

The door swung open without a sound onto a short, dark corridor with a light at the end. 

“My lord?” He called lightly into the darkness. There was no response. Either the master wasn’t in its room, or it had chosen to take out its frustration in flight. He crossed into the shadows to enter the room at the end.

He had already tempted his hosts’ wrath once this evening, but could not stop himself from taking in the contents of its bedroom.

The room itself was in complete disarray, furniture strewn in bits and pieces all over the floor alongside hundreds of feathers. The bed was in tatters, red sheets ripped to shreds until it more resembled a nest than a proper bed. Even the tapestries on the walls showed signs of the resident’s temper.

There was one painting that was so torn as to be completely unrecognizable, except for the eyes. The subject’s eyes were such a vibrant green, they were shining off the canvas, captivating his attention. They were mesmerizing, and frighteningly familiar. 

Berenger reached a hand up to try and piece the image together. Swathes of red hair fell into place, some tucked neatly behind an ear studded with garnets. He had to hold each piece together with the pressure of one hand while the other dragged more into frame, but as the last piece was pulled up, he sucked in a sharp breath. In the same moment, a splinter on the broken frame pricked his finger causing him to drop all the pieces until the subject scattered along his ragged edges again.

“What are you doing here?” Came the voice of the creature from a dark corner of the room. Its… no, _his_ figure melted out of the darkness.

“I...I was coming to apologize.”

“I forbade you from entering this room, and you think breaking that rule will somehow garner my leniency?”

“No, I’m sorry. I had no intention of upsetting you tonight. I meant no disrespect, but-” his mind was whirling as the clues all came together. The disappearance, the Regent’s urgency in removing Laurent and his pet from court, the way Nicaise had suddenly started appearing everywhere Laurent would be before his departure, acting for all the world as if he’d finally got what he wanted. The questions about where he came from, how he could tell he was lying about his status. “I know who you are.”

The creature stopped in his tracks, his annoyance morphing into something like fear, his wings held back. Berenger almost didn’t hear his quiet, disbelieving “What.”

“You were the Regent’s pet,” he whispered into the space between them.

In the span of a blink, the creature went from cornered prey to armed predator. His eyes flashed between indignant fury and horror. “Get out.”

“You’ve been missing for months. The entire court thought you had run off in fear of the axe for your betrayal-”

“Is your hearing damaged? I _ordered_ you to _leave_.”

He couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice. “What _happened_ to you Ancel?”

At the sound of his name, the creature- no, Ancel, the _former pet of the Regent, oh gods-_ reared up on his legs, his wings spread nearly as wide as the room. “You have no _idea_ what I’ve been through! What I’ve suffered!”

As he thought about it though, nothing made sense anymore. Not his sudden departure, or his return as a creature of myth. Unless...Ancel knew who he was too. “Did the Regent send you here to stop us?”

Ancel’s feathers puffed up around his neck, his eyes wide. “And why would he do that?”

“He knew he was sending the prince into a death trap. He knew he’d have to travel along the border eventually.”

“Is that what you think or what you know?” it hissed, its voice pitching higher, almost ending on a screech.

“That’s why you wanted him…” he barreled on. “Why you’re keeping me.”

There was a moment of silence, but it was all the hesitation he needed as proof. “You don’t know _anything-_ ”

“So it is true.” He interrupted him, feeling his own anger rushing over him, letting it loose on his captor. “You were going to trap him here for the Regent. But keeping _me_ , that would hurt Laurent more, cut off one more ally in their game. That’s why you set him free.”

Ancel froze up, either in shock at being caught in his lies or hurt at the accusations. It didn’t matter, for in that moment, Berenger saw his chance. With every ounce of anger in his body, he shoved Ancel away from him. 

“You’re _not_ keeping me.”

Without a second glance, he bolted for the door and down the stairs, past the foyer and the dining table still waiting for its guests to return. His heart was racing as he ran for the entrance, Berenger’s promise be damned. He had to warn Laurent before it was too late, that the Regent’s power was worse than they could imagine.

He didn’t even think twice about the storm that was still raging beyond the snow of the castle, Berenger’s only thought the danger Laurent would find himself in on his return. His boots slipped and slid all over the loose, wet terrain as he tried to remember where the narrow path back up the ravine began, nearly missing it in the darkness. A flash of lightning revealed his freedom, and he sprinted for it.

Even so, the climb out of the ravine was treacherous, and the beautiful velvet coat he still wore was ripped and torn along the cuffs. He only slowed down when the ledge up ahead had started crumbling underneath his feet, and had he not reacted quickly, he’d have tumbled to his death. He tried to calm himself down. Losing his life because he wasn’t thinking with his head would be foolhardy.

It felt like hours before he could make out the shape of the ledge where the road waited in the brief glimpses the lightning gave, and he hastened to reach the top. If he could just make it over the mountains and into Vaskian territory, he could-

A shout at the top of the cliff made him stop.

No one ever used this pass except for horse traders and clansmen on the hunt. Over the din of thunder, he could just make out rough Vaskian dialect and hushed calls for silence. Clansmen, on a raid. 

_I should have grabbed a knife, something to guard myself with. I’m no good to Laurent dead._ Cursing his luck, he crouched there on the path until it looked like the lights had moved on, waiting for the sounds of their hoofbeats to pass. When it seemed like there was no one left, he crept his way up the last few yards of the path.

He should have waited longer, at least until he was absolutely sure. Right as he poked his head up over the ledge, a lantern flared to life not five feet from him, blinding him momentarily. A deep guttural voice shouted at him, something he couldn’t understand. The man whistled then, high and carrying over the wind, and Berenger knew he was going to have to fight or die where he stood. He couldn’t defend against twenty men, much less outrun a team of their horses, but going back would be worse.

The man before him raised his club, but with one hand holding his light, his swing was wide. Berenger did his best to dodge and avoid the plummet behind him, but there was nothing more he could do until his attacker gave him an opening. He could hear the wet pound of hoofbeats getting closer, his own heart beating in time. He dodged another swing, but not fast enough, the heavy end of the club whipping back around to catch him in the shoulder. Pain burst along his arm as it was thrown out of its socket, letting out a hoarse yell as his vision danced with agony. He fell back, trying not to land on the arm that might be broken but still saw stars. It was all the brute needed though. His vision was hazy, but Berenger could just make out the arm holding the club rising high to strike a final blow to his head. He tried to scoot away, when a sudden blast of wind rolled him over onto his aching arm, a litany of curses escaping his lips. The raider screamed in terror, but was cut off with a loud _whump_ and in the next second was silent.

The light from the raider’s lantern had gone out, but when no blow came he opened his eyes, wondering what had happened.

The silhouette of Ancel standing over him made his blood run cold.

“Run.” Ancel hissed at him, frantically tugging at Berenger’s good arm. In his impatience, he jostled the other arm, and the sharp cry he let out made Ancel drop him out of surprise. It was too late though, the sound of the raiders was so close he could make out the threats and jeers in their voices. The men were upon them in seconds, swords brandished and spears in hand.

The leader came to a halt in front of them, its horse rearing up. In that same second, a bolt of lightning from above lit Ancel up all at once. 

Ancel had been a pet, but the wild eyed thing before him was less like a human in every way. His figure was imposing, wings spread twice the length of the leader’s horse and talons glinting like perfectly shaped crescent moons. With all his teeth bared, he looked every bit the part of a Fury come to enact vengeance. 

The horses spooked, rearing up onto their hind legs, the men screaming while others ran up to get a closer look.

With a single beat of his wings, the men on foot were sent sprawling onto the ground. The ones on horseback were struggling to keep them in check. One horse in particular bucked its rider clean off, the man scrambling to his feet and running off into the night in fear. The leader was still trying to regroup his men, shouting furiously at them in broken Vaskian that Berenger was still too muzzy to understand. What he could tell he was that the leader would not go down easily, but with every flash of lightning it looked like their numbers were dwindling, and fast.

Seeing all his men scared off, the leader cursed, dismounting from his own horse. In the flashes from the storm, his sword gleamed long and sharp, his stance low and ready for a fight. Ancel matched his steps, slowly circling around him until the leader lunged, in what he probably thought would be a quick blow. Ancel dodged it faster than he could see, dancing out of his reach. He gave another powerful beat of his wings, but the raider managed to keep his feet planted, his stocky size helping him stay low. 

Seeing that they were both distracted with each other, Berenger grit his teeth and tried to guide his arm back into its socket. Bracing himself against a rock with his injured arm held out straight, he counted down from three in his head, sat up and then _slammed_ his back against it, feeling it pop back into place. The pain was excruciating, his vision going white. It was blinding enough for a short scream of agony to escape him.

It must have been loud enough to divert their attention, because not a moment later he heard a high shriek of distress. Whipping his head back to the fight, Berenger could see that the Vaskian leader had lost his sword, but replaced it with a dagger, which now poked itself out of Ancel’s arm like a silver spike. The man had seen his chance and struck while Ancel was distracted, and in return for the slight, Ancel had raked his talons across the leader’s chest, spraying blood across his face. He ran his hand down his chest, blood soaking into his furs. The leader ran off into the darkness then, realizing his life was worth more than , leaving his horse to fend for itself in his hurry to stay alive.

Ancel stood there, clutching his arm as blood poured down his feathers and off his claws, the knife still embedded. He turned shakily back towards Berenger. For a moment, he thought Ancel was coming to kill him, finish the job the raiders had started, but the look in his eyes stopped him.

He looked tired, and scared. Just like Laurent had been only the night before.

Ancel’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, collapsing either from pain or exertion. 

Lying there unconscious in the mud with blood pouring out of his arm, Berenger contemplated leaving him there to die, making his own way back to freedom... but a voice in his head told him that wouldn’t be right. Ancel had _saved him_ when it would have been much easier to let him perish at the hands of raiders. If he’d truly been sent here to keep Berenger from helping Laurent stop his uncle, he’d wasted every given opportunity for Berenger to meet his end.

Getting back on his feet took more energy than he had to spare, but he did so. The enigma that was Ancel would have to wait. They both needed to get out of the rain, and that wound would need tending. Removing his coat, he tore the sleeve off of it. Carefully extracting the knife, he pressed the ripped fabric into the wound to staunch the bleeding, using the remaining fabric to tie it tight to his arm. The coat was already ruined, what was a little blood added to it? 

With a heaving effort and no small amount of discomfort, he guided Ancel’s comatose form onto the back of the leader’s horse, and started their slow trek back down into the ravine. Back to the enchanted castle... 

He was more unsure of everything now, but one thing was certain. Ancel _had_ saved his life, and Berenger would see to it that that debt would be repaid. 

He could only hope to discover Ancel’s motives for doing so by returning the favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SAID I WAS SLOW AND I MEANT IT, but heeeey at least next chapter is already started~
> 
> hope everyone enjoys this chapter! and please, if you see any errors, tell the coat check at the door, my mind is beyond caring after staring at this doc for almost a month, no beta we die like boys who just wanna have fun and not do the tedious middle part of their own fics
> 
> yea hopefully yall wont be waiting another month again but no promises


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